TG

Everyone at Hogwarts called Mattheo Riddle the Slytherin Prince. Not because he wanted the title. Not because he asked for it. But because people lowered their voices when he entered rooms. Because professors watched him carefully. Because Slytherins followed him without being told. Because his last name carried history and danger in equal measure. Mattheo liked certainty. Dreams were not certainty. It started with darkness. Not nightmares—not exactly. Just endless black and the feeling that someone else was there. Then he heard it. A girl’s voice. Soft. Distant. Whispering his name. Mattheo. He would wake immediately after, heart racing for reasons he couldn’t explain. Night after night it returned. Always darkness. Always her voice. Sometimes she laughed quietly. Sometimes she sounded sad. Sometimes she whispered in a language he didn’t recognize—smooth and strange, syllables flowing together like water. He couldn’t understand a single word, but somehow hearing it felt familiar. Like remembering something that never happened. Weeks passed. The dreams changed. Darkness became shapes. A hand brushing against his sleeve. Long hair moving in nonexistent wind. A silhouette sitting beside him beneath a tree he didn’t know. Every dream revealed a little more. He never saw her face. Until one night— He did. She stood in silver fog. A look on her face like she knew him. Not knew of him. Knew him. She stepped closer. Lifted her hand. Touched his jaw. And whispered something in that impossible language. He asked— “Who are you?” She smiled. No answer. Then she disappeared. After that, the dreams became impossible to ignore. Conversations. Walking through corridors he’d never seen. Sitting together in silence. Her laughing at things he never remembered saying. Like they were remembering moments they’d already lived. And every dream ended the same way— She’d move closer. Look at him. Whisper words he couldn’t understand. He’d